simpler than fairy tales
by mkkkkng
Summary: Kise Ryota, she thinks, as he smiles, giving her a small, grateful salute. Kise Ryota, she thinks, as he reaches out and gently touches her head, rubbing her scalp like she's a pet cat. Kise Ryota, she thinks, as he picks up his blazer and bag and disappears. KiseOC.
1. Chapter 1

simpler than fairy tales.

* * *

_Life, _Mitsuru thinks tiredly, _would be a lot more enjoyable if there weren't stupid people around._ She sighs and looks up at the clear, reddish sky, chewing on her yellow gingko yakitori and grimacing at the bitter aftertaste. "I'm seriously begging you, Yuzu-chan," Mitsuru comments tiredly. "It's been a long day."

"But what _if_," Yuzu insists, taking a bite of her takoyaki. She looks up at Kou and Mitsuru, who eye her warily, exchanging glances as if to say, _Not this again_. "What _if_," eyes wide and uncomfortably sincere, "Just think about this for a moment, okay? I'm about to say something that's been bothering me for a really long time—"

"Yuzu-chan, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I just took a chemistry exam and I probably got like an eighty-three on it, so it would be great if we could just talk about something easy and _not dumb_—the weather, maybe—I mean, I hear there's a storm coming soon—"

"Kou-chan!" Yuzu hisses. "_No_. This is important, okay? Hear me out, and you might thank me later. I mean, I might—I might open a whole new world to you." She leans her head back and swallows another bite whole, and then furrows her eyebrows at them. "_Hypothetically_ speaking," she says mysteriously, "What if a father and mother named their child something like… _Inoue Inoue?"_

A pregnant pause follows. "So listen, Mitsuru-chan," Kou says flatly, "I'm going home this way, okay? Sorry about this, but I just—I can't do this."

Mitsuru spins around and half-grovels, half-glares at Kou with her pale eyes. "Kou-chan," she begs. "Have some pity—You can't just leave me with her! She's a murderer… a _murderer_ of brain cells—"

"Mitsuru-chan," Yuzu only murmurs, shaking her head. She balances her takoyaki toothpick on one finger, the same concentrated, concerned expression on her face. "Think about it. Inoue _Inoue."_

Mitsuru and Kou stare at her flatly. "Yuzu—"

"I mean, what if Inoue Inoue-san had a boyfriend? But they were both massive introverts and had wild complexes over calling each other by their first names? And one day, the boyfriend says, 'Inoue-san… I think it's time we step up our relationship. If it's all right with you, Inoue-san, may I call you…" Yuzu clasps Kou's hand in hers and widens her eyes. "_Inoue-san?'"_

They stare at each other for a long moment. And then: _"I'll kill you!" _Kou screams, and Mitsuru has to hold Kou's arms behind her to stop her from slugging Yuzu in the stomach.

Yuzu only shrugs, tapping her finger against her chin. "I think it'd be pretty bad. It might cause a lot of problems, right? You can't go around calling strangers by their first name."

"Last time you asked what life would be like if dolphins could soar through the sky with their flippers as wings," Mitsuru sighs resignedly.

Kou takes a beat and holds up a hand. "Oh, but _hypothetically_ speaking," she clarifies. "Not to be confused with when dolphins _actually _soar through the sky with their flippers, right?"

Yuzu frowns at them. "Isn't that thought-provoking, too, though? I mean—" she sighs contentedly. "I mean, wouldn't it be beautiful? Imagine yourself, waking up on a Sunday morning. You've finished all your homework and you know you can just relax for a day. It's sunny and warm, and as you go outside with your cup of coffee to watch the sun rise—"

"Yuzu—"

"You see, in the distance, what? A _dolphin, _piercing through cumulus clouds!" She giggles. "Wouldn't that just be romantic? Majestic, even?"

Kou purses her lips with an expression that wants to say five thousand things, but finds no words. She looks slowly at Mitsuru, says simply, "Bye," and spins around and walks away.

Mitsuru sighs and crosses her arms. "Yuzu-chan," she sighs. "I think maybe you were born high."

Yuzu pouts, plucking a gingko bean from Mitsuru's stick and popping it in her mouth. "You were born too serious, Mitchan," she whines. "Where's your imagination? Your appreciation for beauty? Your interest in the _wonder_?"

"Something like that," Mitsuru murmurs, "is impractical. Beauty is only skin deep, right?"

The light-haired girl pauses at that, reaching for another gingko bean, but Mitsuru snatches away the stick before she can touch it. Yuzu pouts, but continues. "Well, truthfully, I don't think so. I don't think beauty ends at the skin—I think it _begins_ there, and can only go deeper."

Mitsuru blinks at that. _So Yuzu isn't filled with _only_ nonsense_, she muses thoughtfully. _She has some profound things in that head of hers, too._

She watches carefully as Yuzu jumps on top of a stone wall, holding her arms out like a bird as she balances on the edge. "Think about it. Beautiful people are beautiful because they have nice souls, you know—not because they have pretty lips, or high foreheads." She yawns and nearly falls from the wall, and Mitsuru has a near-heart attack as her friend threatens to crack open her skull. "Those contribute, of course—people find something pretty if it's aesthetically pleasing. But that kind of prettiness doesn't last. It has to have something behind it, to support it." Yuzu looks up at the sky, reaching up a hand as if to clasp the sun in her palm. "A pretty soul, you know?" she says, and sighs romantically.

Mitsuru restrains a snort. "That sounds like something straight out of a chick flick," she murmurs.

"You know Kise-kun?"

The change in topic is fast and unexpected, and Mitsuru glances up at her in surprise. She recovers quickly, though. Kise Ryota—the boy in her class. How could she not know him? A famous model, a star basketball player, and the ambition of every fair maiden's heart. Tall, with a perfectly charming smile and straight, white teeth. She harumphs in response to Yuzui's question. "What about him?"

"He's pretty, isn't he?" she turns to the taller girl, pressing a finger against her lips in deep thought. Mitsuru nods. _No question about that._ "He's pretty, but—do you think he's beautiful?"

Mitsuru almost sighs at the stupid question. _He's a model, _she thinks_. Of course he's beautiful. If he wasn't, maybe school life would be…_ She thinks of the hordes of girls with cell phone cameras, crowding around the door to their classroom in between periods. _Quieter._

"I mean, do you think he has a pretty soul?" Yuzui asks, clarifying her earlier question.

Mitsuru opens her mouth as if to answer, but doesn't. She stares at her shoes—a little worn out, she observes absently. A little old—maybe, she thinks, I'll go shopping this weekend. "Who knows?" she says finally. "There's no use speculating if we don't know him."

Yuzu shrugs. "But it's _fun, _Mitsu-chan."

She scowls. "It's not. I don't think so. I think it's rude, Yuzu-chan. I think you should know someone before you talk about him."

Yuzu quiets for a moment. Not offended quiet, or scolded quiet, but thoughtful quiet—Yuzu's brand of quiet. "Ne, Mitsuru-chan," she says finally, and Mitsuru turns, only because Yuzu's voice sounds so strange—overly sincere. "I was thinking…"

Mitsuru swallows the last gingko bean and drops the stick into a trash can as she passes it. "Yes?"

"Just… what if…" Yuzu stops moving and jumps down from the stone wall. She leans forward, leaving her face inches from her own. "What if… Kise-kun's name was _Kise Kise?_ Wouldn't that—wouldn't that be kind of… amazing?"

The sound of Mitsuru's slap echoes down the streets, followed by Yuzu's howl of pain.

* * *

At school the next morning, Mitsuru feels sick to her stomach. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a pack of painkillers and stabs open one of the pills, holding it up between her fingers. One of the girls in her class takes notice and taps her shoulder, a concerned expression on her face, but Mitsuru just smiles comfortingly and waves her off. "Cramps," she explains simply, and the girl gives her a final sympathetic nod before turning back to her friends.

It really is no big deal. She gets stomachaches often, after all; probably something genetic, because her dad isn't good with acidic foods, either. Still, it's been a while since the last one, and the pain feels particularly sharp. It's with this thought that she realizes she forgot her water bottle today.

She stares at the small white pill in her hand, rolling it around along the lines of her palm. She wonders if she can pull it off—swallowing a pill whole without water to wash it down—but she doesn't bother to try. Just the thought of forcing something down her esophagus makes her sick again. Mitsuru is, after all, the epitome of "better safe than sorry"—something she is, in fact, proud of.

She sighs and glances up, wondering if she has the energy to straggle to the nearest water fountain. But the thought quickly escapes her mind as her gaze rests on is a perspiring, turquoise-colored water bottle, balanced on the edge of someone's desk. It's nearly half full. Something as plain as water has never looked so beautiful.

When she turns to look up at the person sitting at the desk, she sees Kise Ryota. He's not looking at her; he's looking at his phone, swiping the screen like he's looking through a gallery of pictures, a slight smile on his lips. She rests her cheek on her fist and watches him laugh quietly to himself—the corners of eyes crinkling, his lips gliding across his face as he smiles, the way he pulls at his yellow hair with two fingers. _He really is pretty,_ she thinks absently. _The world was right to make him a model._

She shakes away the unnecessary thoughts and hesitates for only a heartbeat before reaching out for him. Her fingertips hover over his shoulder, not touching his sleeve, but he seems to sense something anyway. "Um… Kise-kun…"

But just as she does, she hears an onslaught of deafeningly loud shrieks from outside the classroom. A sharp pain stings at her stomach again at the noise. _Oh... It's starting, _she thinks miserably, and closes her eyes to avoid the flashing camera lights from the girls' cell phones. If Kise was about to turn to her, he isn't now; he focuses his attention on the fans outside the room, smiling and waving amiably for their photographs. She retracts her hand and presses her fist into her stomach. _Loud... _she thinks, and rests her head on the desk. _So loud._

She doesn't have the courage to ask Kise Ryota for his water bottle that period. She pretends that it's not because she's intimidated by him; she doesn't want to admit such a thing. Instead, she keeps her eyes shut tight and her fist firmly against her stomach for the rest of the day, clutching the small white pill in her other hand until it melts and leaves a sticky white residue on her fingers.

A/N: I wanted Yuzu's catchphrase to be something like, "Think about it," but I don't think it worked out as well as it wanted to :/ Also, I'm not sure I got across the difference between Yuzu's whimsical mind, Mitsuru's practical one, and Kise's hidden beauty that amalgamates both (pretty on the outside, but hiding a thousand thoughts on the inside).

* * *

(By the way, I love this emoticon. :/ I think it describes my emotions perfectly whenever I use it. :/ Like, _yeah, I'm kind of irritated + upset with how things turned out, but whatever, I'll deal.)_

But what I want you to know about this story is this: (1) I'm aiming for a simple atmosphere that looks at beauty in the world and beauty in people; (2) This is going to be a comparatively short story, + there won't be any real love triangles in here (simple story!); (3) Did you guYS SEE THE NEW KUROBAS PV; and (4) Once you have, you all should read/watch Prince of Tennis, and when you're done with that, check out _the echoes of angels _and 250 Dark Stars by ff user Neon Genesis. They're seriously two of the best I've ever read and I'm obsessed with them. She won't update, though, so help me bully her into it.

Also, I hope you liked Mitsuru—I really wanted a heroine OC who isn't annoying, but still quiet and shy. Kind of like a fem!Kuroko… but I'm not sure I accomplished it. :/

Thanks for reading an OC fic! & sorry for the very long author's note. It won't happen again. T^T

130709


	2. Chapter 2

simpler than fairy tales.

* * *

A text message vibrates Mitsuru's phone at the end of her last period, and when she opens it, she learns two things: (1) Kou has track practice that she forgot about and won't be going home, and (2) Yuzu accidentally threw a chalkboard eraser at her bald chemistry teacher while playing Crazy Ninja Warrior Super Jutsu Time and has detention until 5. Mitsuru sighs at the thought and drops her phone into her skirt pocket, sliding her books into her backpack.

It's been a while since she's gone home alone, and as she takes her time down the sidewalk, she marvels at how quiet it is without Yuzu's constant string of questions: _Hey, Mitsuru-chan, do you think fruits and vegetables have rivalries with each other in the refrigerator over which is healthier or tastier? _And, _Hey, Mitsuru-chan, what if I walked sideways for the rest of my life—I mean, walked on one foot and one hand, with my other foot and my other hand in the air? _And, _Hey, Mitsuru-chan, wouldn't life be easier if everyone had a horse? It's energy efficient, right? All we'd need is a mass poop-clearing machine._

Mitsuru giggles quietly to herself as she thinks about it. Yuzu's mind is so unlike hers. Like oil and water, they are: Yuzu, whimsical and strange and imaginative and, above all, able to find beauty in everything; beside Mitsuru, arrow-straight and honest and maybe a little bit jaded. And though she knows she'll probably never be on the same wavelength as her, Mitsuru can't help but to love those thoughts and their unfamiliarity.

* * *

It's warm out today, even for spring; and even though her stomachache is fading anyway, she decides to stop by the park and sit on the playground for a bit. The swings are empty today, so she picks the middle one and seats herself, folding her legs in and yielding her body to wind and gravity. The clouds are still and breeze is slight, and when she closes her eyes, she can hear someone singing faintly in the distance.

A small brown-haired girl is building a castle in the dirt to her right. When Mitsuru glances at her, the girl blinks and stands and runs to her quickly, wiping her hands on her white shirt and leaving beige streaks across the surface. "Ne," she says, tugging on Mitsuru's sleeve, demanding attention. "Ne, is it pretty?"

Mitsuru blinks, and then looks at the sand castle she is pointing at. "Um," she says. She stares at it: a generic sand castle, with roughly carved turrets and stick flags and a stone moat.

_It's—_she begins, but the words are caught in her throat. Somehow, it's not that she doesn't know _how_ to answer, but that doesn't know the answer itself—like this is the final question on a chemistry exam, like she doesn't have the correct information to answer it properly. Her head is blank, and the words "yes" and "no" float in front of her eyes like haunting ghosts of bugs. But she's watched enough maudlin beach-scene romance movies and read enough sappy teen novels to know that sand castles are, by definition, beautiful. So she closes her eyes and says: "Yeah, I guess."

The girl nods solemnly and retreats, saying nothing more. Mitsuru lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding. She turns away to the right, to something less mentally draining. _Street ball,_ she realizes as her gaze lands on the public basketball courts, relieved that she knows nothing about it.

The court is bigger than expected, and she has to admit that she's never been to anything like street ball before. She's never had a reason to; after all, she's just a normal high school girl, not a crazy basketball player like what seems like half the school. Still, she finds herself drawn in immediately; finds herself fascinated by the hollow _thunk thunk thunk _of the ball pounding against the ground, by the squeaking of sneakers mixing with sweat and action.

She stands, dusting off her skirt. She's never really been into sports; and yet, somehow, the steadiness of the echo of the ball against the concrete lifts her gaze, and she finds herself stepping slowly toward the court, her eyes glued to the way the sunlight bounces off the curve of the ball.

There are three boys playing already. She doesn't recognize them, though she's startled to realize that one of them is wearing her school's uniform. The two in the non-Kaijo uniform, both of whom are facing her, glance fleetingly at her as she approaches, nodding politely before continuing their wild dance around each other: long limbs flying and mock-angry laughter ringing in her ears. Mitsuru seats herself on the bench, carefully avoiding what she presumes to be the boys' things—their backpacks and blazers, sloppily folded over the back of the bench.

And then: she looks up, and the third boy, the blonde, escapes his opponents' screen, slides effortlessly through, and suddenly the ball is in his hands. The sun catches his golden eyes and the glint of his grin, and Mitsuru blinks, and recognizes him.

_Kise Ryota,_ she thinks. _Kise Ryota._

Kise stands hipshot to the side, a challenging expression on his face as he dribbles the ball. Resignedly, the boy complies, running toward him to defend. "Why do you do this, Kise Ryota?" he wails. "Like I'm really going to be able to steal this from you?"

Kise laughs back, dribbling the ball against the concrete, sprinkling the scent of some subtle cologne and sweat and something else in his wake and her hair to fly in his breeze. He rips off his blazer and throws it in the general direction of the bench as he passes it—the bench where Mitsuru is sitting.

The blazer drapes gently over her head like a heavy, opaque wedding veil, and she sits there for a solid few seconds in darkness and confusion before realizing: _Kise Ryota's school uniform is on my head._

Before she knows what she's doing, she inhales. It smells the same as before—of cologne and sweat and maybe coffee and something sweet, maybe spicy. She blinks before slipping it off and smoothing down her hair, folding it neatly and placing it beside her on the bench.

Kise doesn't notice; his back is to her. The other two boys look shocked and unsure whether it's all right to laugh, but are quickly distracted and Mitsuru is quickly forgotten. But that's okay: it's not like she's hurt, nor like she wanted attention.

The boys are good players; they keep up with Kise's pace, and even score a few baskets. But Kise Ryota is on another level: an angel, a genius, a monster.

He glides through the air, his yellow hair folding into itself over and over as he cuts imaginary paths for himself in the wind. It's as if the world recognizes his beauty and charisma, and opens new dimensions for him to stroll through; and as he laughs and spins under his opponents' arms, the fabric of his rolled-up sleeves flapping like bird wings in his speed, the ball itself seems magnetized to Kise's presence.

He charges past them to slam a ball into their basket, pumping his fist and ripping off his wristband to wipe at the sweat on his forehead. "First to twenty-five points!" Kise calls, catching his own rebound. "I win!"

"Wow, what a surprise!" exclaims one of his opponents in mock-glee, running a hand through his wet hair.

"Kise Ryota," one of the boys mutters, mock-bitterly, as Kise dunks a final shot into the hoop. "You bastard. You know, if you get murdered in your sleep in the near future, you can safely assume it was one of us."

Kise scoffs. "You can't kill me. I'm famous," he retorts, emphasizing his words with a model pose for an imaginary photographer. He steps backward toward the bench "But," he adds, amicably, holding up a V sign, "If you guys ever want to play agai—_wah!_"

His words trail off as his gaze lands on her. She jerks slightly to see that he's staring straight at her, his yellow feline eyes drilling holes into hers. She makes a small, _eep_ sound and leans back into the bench, where she immediately begins to hiccup. She slaps a hand over her mouth to hide it. "Whoa," Kise says slowly, staring at her from the ground. "How long have you been there?"

"Man, you're famous, but terribly inobservant," sighs the second boy, shaking his head in disappointment. "She's been there from the start." He pauses thoughtfully. "You were actually kind of rude to her, you know."

"Rude?" Kise asks, as if the concept is foreign to him. "Why?"

"You threw your blazer at her, man," he exclaims, and points toward the neatly folded jacket beside her. "It landed right on her head. You should apologize, dude. It's common courtesy."

"Ah…" Kise moans, rubbing a hand over his cheeks. "Did I really? I'm sorry, I—" He trails off, his eyes narrowing, and he tilts his head to the side in careful thought. "Wait. You look familiar. Aren't you in my class?" She doesn't say anything, still hiccupping, and he begins twirling the basketball on one finger, keeping his eyes locked on hers. She frowns at the attention, and focuses hers on the spinning ball—_round, and round, and round…_ "No, you are. I think it's… uh, Kowai Mitsuru-san, right?"

"Uh—" she murmurs softly, willing herself to stop hiccupping. If she thinks about it hard enough, she could probably do something about it—or maybe her mind isn't strong enough. "Yes…"

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, the basketball still twirling on his finger, before seeming to realize something. Reaches into his bag, Kise pulls out and hands her the turquoise water bottle with a friendly smile—the one that was sitting on his desk, and the one she never ended up asking for. "For your hiccups," he offers. She hesitates, but takes it from him gratefully. "Ah, I'm sorry about the blazer. I should have been more careful. I was kind of excited, I guess…"

She doesn't know why, but she giggles. "Yeah," she says quietly, a slight smile on her lips. "I could tell."

He blinks at her, and then laughs too.

_Kise Ryota,_ she thinks, as he gives her a smile with a small, grateful salute. _Kise Ryota, _she thinks, as he reaches out and gently touches her head, rubbing her scalp like she's a pet cat. _Kise Ryota,_ she thinks, as he picks up his blazer and bag and leaves.

_Kise Ryota._

_Pretty._

* * *

Mitsuru washes out the water bottle when she gets home, a little more thoroughly than probably necessary. She inches her soapy sponge into the rubber tractions at the bottom, and runs it around the edges of the top; coats the outside with soap, and washes it away with her fingertips, as gently as she would if she were caressing a puppy.

The bubbly water swirls down the drain, forming little whirlpools and tsunamis beneath her hands; and she imagines a small town of water people, living at the bottom of her sink, relishing as their water supply becomes once again replenished. The orange sunlight leaves rainbows in the streams.

She uses a pink towel to wipe the water off of Kise's water bottle, and when she's done, places it on the window sill of her room to dry in the setting sun. His name is written clearly on the side of the plastic in black Sharpie, each letter printed neatly and evenly, pretty words in a pretty color. She reaches out and traces them, the lines, wondering if it was Kise himself who wrote it: _Ki-se Ryo-ta, _she reads, and engraves the kanji into the back of her mind.

* * *

A/N: It's amazing, but I've nothing of importance to say about this chapter. Except I'm sorry if you were bored. You might have been bored.

Also I must say, I shIP AOKAGA SO FUCKIN' HARD O MFG


	3. Chapter 3

****simpler than fairy tales.

* * *

Kise is standing outside the classroom in the morning, grinning boyishly as he converses easily with a pair of girls. Mitsuru hears them stammer the words "fans" and "autograph" as she passes by, and repeats them to herself in her head—_fans, autographs, fans, autographs—_until she sits down at her desk, stacking her English books in a neat pile in the center.

She's surprised to realize that she's never thought about it seriously: about the fact that she is, indeed, always in the same room as a famous person—a person famous enough to merit fans and autographs. The thought becomes more and more foreign to her as she thinks about it: famous, because an entire country decided he had the physical characteristics to advertise clothes and makeup and cologne; famous, because he was tall and muscular and boyish; famous, because he had a pretty face.

_But beautiful?_ Mitsuru asks herself, thinking of Yuzu's question. _Is Kise Ryota beautiful?_

She pushes the question away as class begins. The teacher announces a page number in their textbooks to turn to, but instead she picks up her pen and carves the kanji for _truth_ into the corner of her notebook, tracing it over and over until the word dents all the way to the back page.

* * *

Gym class, they play soccer. Mitsuru is doing pretty well by using her special style: staying clear away from wherever the ball is and avoiding both the opponent's team and her own equally. She stands off to the side, her arms tightly folded as she shivers in the not-quite-warm spring weather, letting her eyes follow the ball back and forth across the field.

At halftime, she turns to watch another class running relay races. She thinks she sees Kou with her typical scowl, racing like a Tasmanian devil across the muddy terrain. As Kou pumps her arms furiously, holding the baton in her left hand, she wonders if, had she tried, she could be as good as Kou-chan at sports—or maybe even Kise-kun, the basketball genius…

She scoffs at herself. _Impossible._

When she turns back around, she realizes something is flying toward her face. Still, it doesn't register until it's only two meters from her head—the soccer ball. Panicking, she twists around, lifting her arms to protect her face, but somehow the rest of her body doesn't follow her brain's lead and she finds herself falling to the ground as a sharp pain runs through her ankle.

The next thing she knows, she's staring up at the cloudless sky. Her ankle throbs dully, but it's not unbearable. She has a secret for pain, and for feelings: _Pain is imaginary, _she tells herself, as she always does when she gets a paper cut or a scraped knee: _It's all in your head. It doesn't hurt, right?_

Sure enough, the pain slowly fades; still, she can't bring herself to stand up. And even if she could physically, she realizes it would be impossible with the growing crowd around her, half-chanting, half-wailing her name: "Mitsuru-san! Mitsuru-san, are you okay? Oh my god, did you see her _fall_?"

She glares at her ankle, like it's her body's fault. _Thanks,_ she tells it telepathically. _This is what I wanted. More attention._

"Mitsuru-san!" someone shouts, cutting through the low murmur, and everyone turns to see Kise Ryota running toward her. "Are you all right? Jesus, I'm so sorry—I keep doing these things to you—I don't know what's wrong with me, I—" He stops and breathes, pounding his head with his fist. "I'm sorry. I'm so careless. Let me—please let me take you to the infirmary."

"No, it's fine," Mitsuru begins, grabbing one of the girls' hands as she attempts to stand up. "I think—it's just a little twisted. I'm not hurt."

"Mitchan," the girl says carefully. "I think you should listen to Kise-kun. It's swelling up, and it's not pretty."

Mitsuru looks down to see for herself, but the sudden movement causes her to stagger forward, and she feels her head collide with someone's face. She gasps and jerks her head up to see Kise, clutching his nose with a pained expression.

"Ow, Mitsuru-san," Kise says, but she can hear him restraining laughter. "That was a headbutt. It actually hurts."

"Kise-kun!" the girls wail collectively, and suddenly the crowd around them is deafening. Mitsuru winces and ducks her head, looking for a way out of the mob. "Kise-kun, are you all right? Is your face okay?"

"Yeah, Kise," laughs one of the boys, "is your million-dollar model face still flawless?"

"I'm fine, but it stings." He pauses. "I'm going to the infirmary," he declares, like he's announcing some grand adventure. "You'll lead the way, won't you, Mitsuru-san? As an apology? I might faint if I go alone…"

She frowns. His yellow eyes are watching, challenging.

_Sneaky._

She rubs her eyes and gives in, sighing resignedly. Kise drapes himself over her shoulder, limping overdramatically to make the PE teacher roll his eyes and disperse growing crowd; but with each step, she can feel him shifting their weight so that it's really him supporting her.

By the time they reach the infirmary, she's practically levitating because Kise is holding her up, and when she looks up to say something, he only grins at her with that brilliant smile and she loses her words in a heartbeat.

* * *

_Which came first, _Mitsuru asks herself as she and Kise stand awkwardly in infirmary, _shoujo manga or real life?_

These are things that would never happen to a typical girl in a typical world: things that are too coincidental, too romantic, too… _Yuzu-_like for reality. As Kise rubs the back of his head, looking around the empty room, Mitsuru sighs softly and seats herself on the bed, pushing away the white curtains.

"I don't think sensei is here," Kise says. His eyes are wide and surprised, like he's sincerely amazed. "I don't see her."

He turns to look at her, but Mitsuru ducks her head behind a curtain of her thick black hair just before he can meet her eyes. "Yeah," she says. "I don't think so, either." She turns toward the nurse's desk and opens a few drawers, digging through room-temperature ice packs and boxes of Aspirin before she finds a package of bandages.

She holds them up triumphantly, showing Kise, who peers at her curiously. "You seem to know this place well, Mitsuru-san," he says, a hidden question in his words.

She only shrugs and picks at the tape on the Band-Aid box until it releases. "Aa," she agrees, pulling out one of the strips. She holds it up to the light, squinting, and makes out the image of Puella Magi Madoka Magica, holding Kyubey in her arms, in the orange light of the sun. She holds back a giggle at the thought of Madoka casting spells on Kise's face before putting it back and selecting a plainer one.

He's still looking at her questioningly, so she gives an uncomfortable shrug, forced to go on. "I have accident-prone friends," she says simply, and thinks of Kou, who injures herself at least twice a week while participating in her many sports; and Yuzu, who seems to have the uncanny ability to draw sharp or heavy objects to herself, like dictionaries on her toes and thumbtacks in her fingers. "The type that wouldn't bother to take care of themselves if I didn't do it for them."

Kise watches her. "Are you taking care of me, too?" he asks her. Conversational, innocent, friendly.

But she stills, and doesn't meet his gaze. _You brought _me_ here,_ she almost says, but doesn't.

Instead, she motions for him to sit on the stool before her, which he does obediently. She's glad he doesn't pressure her to answer his question, and busies herself taking his face in her hands, focusing her attention away from his yellow diamond eyes. "Nothing seems broken," she says, her voice wavering for some reason as she turns his head left and right. She clears her throat and tries again. "And you're not bleeding, Kise-kun. I don't think you had to come."

Mitsuru quickly releases him, her fingers burning.

"Well, you did," Kise says. Mitsuru swallows, looking out the window and waiting for him to turn away. But he doesn't; and, frustrated, Mitsuru finally turns to look straight back at him with a frown.

They sit that way for several ageless seconds: Mitsuru, on the edge of the bed, one hand gripping the bandages and the other coiled in a fist, resting on her knee between their bodies like a weapon; and Kise, smiling amiably, his yellow eyes piercing through layers and layers of the otherworldly dimensions his presence itself created, through the air and through her skin and into the depths of her soul.

Mitsuru squirms, but can't bring herself to turn away. _Kise Ryota is dangerous_, she thinks; _dangerous because he doesn't seem like it._

"You have strange eyes," he says finally, to break the silence. "Pale."

She frowns. "That's kind of rude."

"Aa…," he says, and laughs, boyish and warm. "I didn't mean it that way, Mitsuru-san."

"You don't have to say 'san,'" she says suddenly, and then immediately regrets it. She's read enough shoujo manga to know that's a big deal between girls and boys—it's just that she doesn't talk to a lot of boys, and almost everyone she knows calls her "Mitchan." "I mean—" she says quickly, and falters, wondering why she's even trying—like there's even a chance to fix this. "I mean, do whatever," she finishes lamely.

_That's worse than what I started out with. What's this, some tsundere crap?_ she thinks miserably, and realizes with horror that she's blushing in embarrassment. _Well, if it wasn't tsundere before, now it's _definitely_ tsundere._

When she looks up, she realizes that Kise is staring at her with the most incredibly amused expression. "What are you thinking about?" he asks in a tone that means he's restraining laughter. "You look like you're holding the essence of cold fusion in your lungs."

"That doesn't even make sense," she mumbles, and turns away from his gaze.

Neither of them says another word after that. Mitsuru doesn't look at Kise's face again, keeping her eyes outside the window at the white-white clouds, her fists clenched beneath her skirt as Kise takes the cloth package and wraps it expertly around Mitsuru's ankle. She mutters a quiet _thanks_ when he's done, throws out the wrappers on the ground, and gives him a bow before hurrying out the door.

She can feel his eyes on her as she leaves. Mitsuru is a coward, but she is safe.

* * *

A/N: This was _supposed _to be a lot longer than it is, but school and the homework load started, and the chapter is already late as it is -_-;;; I can't believe I actually thought I'd be able to keep up a regular schedule for this story T^T

PS. KUROBAS SEASON 2 IN TWELVE DAYS SCREAAAAAAAAMMMMM

20130922


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